


Somewhere With You

by Lapin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 20:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lapin/pseuds/Lapin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first March, Derek pulls Stiles out of the water, out of the dead kelpie's grip, and kisses him.</p><p>The second March, Derek rips out a pooka's guts.</p><p>Demon horses. What is with the demon horses?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere With You

**Author's Note:**

> Hey this a thing that happened before.

_March 4th (Over the love of you)_

Derek wakes up alone.

Stiles is sitting at the kitchen table, already dressed, when he finally forces himself up and out of the warmth, staring blearily into a cup of coffee. “Barely eight,” Derek says, cracking his neck, heading into the kitchen to get his own cup. 

It's a gesture he's made a thousand times by now, the way his hand settles on the back of Stiles' neck.

The way Stiles' shrugs it off is new.

“We have to talk.” 

 

♦

_February (make fun of me)_

♦

 

It's Valentine's Day, and Derek thinks it's kind of a made-up holiday, but he's knows it's Stiles' first where he's actually with someone, so he tries his best to make it what it should be. He picks a local florist on Laurel, a small shop stuffed full of flowers, mostly roses, the smell overpowering enough to give him the beginnings of a headache, but he sucks it up and deals.

The florist is understanding of his discomfort, asks, “So is this for a woman or a man?” And she has a clinical detached way that helps Derek relax, which is probably her goal, to let people know right off the bat she doesn't care, as long as they can pay. 

“A man,” he says, and she nods over the order form. He wonders how that changes things. 

“Does he have a favorite color?” And Derek thinks, says that he wears blue a lot. She nods again, “Anything he hates?” Derek shrugs, and she smirks. “Has he ever said anything about your aftershave, or a cologne you've worn? Anything that makes you think he doesn't like a scent?” Derek shakes his head, and she nods again, writing in some kind of shorthand he can't read on the order form. “What price range do you want to stay in?” And Derek tells her to just make it nice, because he doesn't care, has never worried about his bank account, and she nods. Then she says, “What do you want it to say? Flowers mean things, you know.” 

Frustrated with the whole ordeal, especially the smell, he just tells her to make it say something good. She laughs, says, god, men, you're all the same, but it's not exasperated or cruel, more happy, and he thinks she probably likes the holiday, probably makes a lot of money off it. But the way she asks about what he wants it to say makes him think she genuinely likes her job, so he's glad he picked this florist. He wants Stiles to have it mean something, his first Valentine's Day.

“I think I've got an idea,” she says, smiling down at her order form. 

And the bouquet on Stiles' kitchen table is huge, because she is a businesswoman after all, but even he knows it's pretty. It's indigo irises, jasmine, white amaranth, violets, and honeysuckle winding at the bottom of the vase. It smells good, and he wonders what it says. What she gleaned from him in those ten minutes in her shop. 

Stiles laughs when he opens the kitchen door to Derek, says, “You know I'm a guy, right?” But he's happy. He's really happy. 

Derek did that, he thinks. 

 

♦

_March 4th (That I'm not drowning)_

♦

 

“So what, Stiles, you come here to fuck me one last time? Your way of saying good-bye?” His voice is raised too loud, he's shouting, but fuck this, no. No. 

“I didn't mean to! That's not what I came over to do, okay, we weren't supposed to sleep together, I just, I don't know, okay,” but that's what they had done, that's what Stiles had encouraged when he'd crawled into Derek's lap on the couch and kissed him, said _I love you_ and he says it so much, says he loves Derek, and no. 

Someone is pounding on the wall, where Derek's apartment joins another, breaks him out of his temper enough to get himself under control again. “What the fuck,” he breathes, quietly, to the table, where his fingers are digging in, human fingers, because Derek has control. He does. “So you came over here to break up with me.” He knows it's not a question.

Stiles' eyes are wet. “Yeah.” 

And Derek did that.

 

♦

_January (oh, if you ever decide to leave)_

♦

 

The beach is all black rocks and green water, cold. Derek likes Oregon, likes the pack here, his cousins, distant enough to not be blood but still carry the Hale name. He's happy to see their Alpha, Ashley, who is quick to embrace him, and it's _family_ , and Derek's missed that. Even Isaac is happy, or as happy as he gets, with the attention. He's still cautious though, Derek can see. Still waiting for them to turn on him. Derek doesn't know what to do to fix that, doesn't know how to show Isaac that pack is different, that packs love with all their hearts, that they don't...they don't. He doesn't like to think about Isaac's life before the bite. Derek's got enough weight on his shoulders.

Ashley is as sweet as can be to the three, welcoming, full of praise for Derek and how he's finally rebuilding, after all these years. He thinks maybe she's raising an eyebrow at his choices, at Isaac and his capital-i Issues, at Boyd and his personal space, and at Erica and her insecurities, but she's not saying anything that would hurt them, nor is she questioning Derek about them.

With Stiles though. Well. She's _trying_ , for Derek's sake, and her betas fall in line, but he can see how leery they are, how unenthusiastic they are about talking to him, sharing, being family. So Derek isn't surprised when he finds Stiles out here, on the black rocks, in his hoodie, face obscured. He doesn't look like a teenager, even now, with his face red from the wind, biting his lip, his Chuck Taylors wet with sea spray. He doesn't look like anything but Stiles.

“I like it.” Stiles says, when Derek approaches. “The ocean. I don't get to go to the beach too much. I burn.” He shrugs, like it's a fact of life he can't change, so he doesn't care. “It's nice here though.” The day is overcast, a storm coming. Derek can smell the rain, feel the static in the air. He likes rain, but not this kind. This is going to be sleet. He should get Stiles in. “Why don't they like humans?” 

Stiles never can stay on one subject long, especially not when there's something running around in his head and consuming him, like Derek knows this is. He'll try and jump away from it, try and pretend it doesn't hurt, but Derek knows him too well, knows just how easy it is to cut him. 

“Because hunters are human.” He shrugs, because he isn't sure how to explain it, not when it's something he's so used to, something he grew up with. “Humans get our hackles up. Ashley is a purist. Means she doesn't let humans in the pack.” His dad had been one too. “She's trying. She wants to like you.” Because she likes Derek, and she knows Derek would never look at a human unless he knew for sure they could be trusted, and she doesn't even know the extent of it. Doesn't know Derek already made that mistake, won't make it again. 

“But she doesn't like me.”

“You're human.” He doesn't know what Stiles wants him to say, if he wants Derek to lie and make him feel better, or tell the truth so he knows where he stands. This is a delicate subject, Derek gets that, especially with someone like Stiles, who likes to be liked. “It's difficult for her.” 

Stiles knows what Kate did, but he's never _seen_ it, never seen one of theirs murdered for kicks, for practice. He will one day though. It'll be the day he stops asking why most werewolves don't like humans anymore. 

“She likes the others just fine.” 

“They're bitten. She's not an extremist.” Derek's met some of them, ones who think bitten are inferior, who think only born should be allowed in packs. Derek's family hadn't subscribed to that belief, his mother especially, and since she had been the Alpha, it had been her call with how Derek and his sister and his immediate cousins were raised. She'd been smart, his mom, had told him they needed new blood constantly, to keep themselves strong. Told him old blood had rot to it, that would grow and grow until it destroyed whole family trees. 

“So if you bit me...” Stiles doesn't finish the thought, but Derek can practically hear him thinking, hear how torn up he is inside about all of this. Derek almost wishes he hadn't brought him, but he knows he had to. Things are serious, at this point, and to visit Ashley and her pack without him would have been seen as Derek saying he didn't trust her or her pack. He knows what Stiles is to him, or could be, one day.

“It doesn't matter to me.” And it's a lie, but it's not like Stiles can tell. Derek wants to turn Stiles, wants to make him a wolf like him, can barely fight the instinct some days. But he does, because he has control. He can understand a _no_ when he hears one, even if it's never said. The no might change to a yes some day, but not today, and he has to leave it until then. “Ashley likes you.” She does, actually. That's not a lie. “She's trying.” And by that, he means Ashley is trying to remember that Stiles is Derek's, that Stiles won't kill them in their sleep, that Stiles is safe. She's _trying_. 

“Do we have to go back inside?” Stiles is uncomfortable. Derek feels like an asshole for it. He had wanted to make him happy by bringing him, show Stiles he's important, he's valued, but now he's miserable and it's Derek's fault. 

“No,” he says, and pulls Stiles close. “We can stay out here. Til the rain starts.” 

Stiles sighs, sounds relieved. “Okay.” He bites his lip again, asks, “So when I come back here, after, you know, they'll be more friendly?” 

Derek almost doesn't want to question it, push his luck, but it's something he can't help. “After?” He just wants to _know_ , wants to know if the answer might ever change, if he might finally have him, belong to him. Make a real family again.

“After,” Stiles says, and doesn't elaborate, doesn't say when, and doesn't say maybe either.

 

♦

_March (ain't no reason running after something already gone)_

♦

 

“How did your dad even find out?” Derek is calm again, as calm as he can be right now. 

Stiles won't look up from his coffee, his leg tapping out a rhythm on the floor. “Allison, Lydia, and Scott. They told him everything, and I mean _everything_ when I say that, like, Peter, Laura, the Argents.” He takes a sip of his coffee, rubs his thumbs over the condensation on the mug. “Us.” 

“Why?”

“Because I told Scott I was thinking about asking you for the bite.” And he doesn't look up, doesn't meet Derek's eyes. “So he told Allison, and Allison told Lydia, and they all just decided they of course knew better than me what was best for my life, and went and talked to my dad.” 

Derek should have known the Argents were involved in this somehow, he thinks. “He'll never make anything stick.” Statutory rape charges are a bitch to prosecute, from what Derek's heard. “You're practically living here half the damn time anyway, and the house will be done in a month. You'll be eighteen by then. No one can say anything.” And he'll come home to Stiles and Erica trying to teach Isaac how to cook for the millionth time, while Boyd does his homework at the table, supervising from a safe distance, and he'll go to bed with him, be allowed to listen to him breathe, listen to his heartbeat, not have to sleep alone anymore, and he'll have him and his pack and -

“Derek, he's my dad.” 

He closes his eyes, and feels that dream slip right out from under him. 

Because now he gets it.

Last night wasn't Stiles choosing him, is what he's trying to tell Derek.

“Yeah,” Derek says. 

What else can he say?

 

♦

_December (whispered in my ear)_

♦

 

Derek thinks he might be too old for this, the way Stiles slips under his arm, the way his own face breaks into a smile. He's too old, too jaded, to be this in love, to feel like his whole world is revolving around one mouthy seventeen-year-old who thinks Derek is kind of awesome, even when he thinks he's kind of stupid and reckless and lucky. 

And Stiles says, “I think the new house needs to be bigger. No one is going to want to share. I guess ten rooms?”

Derek shrugs, says, “I guess.” Then he says, “Master bedroom should have its own bathroom, I guess.” 

“Yeah, I don't want to share with Erica, she spends an hour on her hair, it's so...” And Stiles trails off, realizes what he said around the same time Derek does. And that's when Derek realizes what he's been assuming all along, that Stiles will be in that master bedroom with him. He's seventeen, Derek reminds himself. He's seventeen, and he might change his mind. 

He tugs Stiles in tighter. “Ten rooms sound good.” The old house had eight bedrooms, and it had been getting tight. Ten rooms, with room for additions, that sounds good. “West-facing? You're not a morning person.” And it's all he can offer, all he's got to show to Stiles that says he can be what Stiles wants. 

And Stiles' heart flutters before he says, “Yeah. That'd be good.” 

 

♦

_March (Forgive me)_

♦

 

Derek is working on tiling the kitchen when he hears Scott come up the drive, his car door slamming, stomping up the new porch steps, coming in the open front doors without invitation. Derek stands, but it's Boyd who gets to him first. 

“What is it? Still need to fill that monthly quota you've got?” Boyd asks, Erica snickering somewhere nearby. 

“Boyd, come on.” Isaac tries to interfere, play referee, and Derek knows he should go out there, face down Scott, but he just can't quite bring himself to do it yet. “Scott was doing what he thought was right.”

“No, your friend here was doing what he loves to do: get in other people's business.” 

Erica giggles meanly. “So, I've got a bet going with Boyd here. See, Boyd thinks you're just a nosy asshole, but you know, there were always those rumors about the two of you.” She lowers her voice, practically purrs. “So I'm thinking it was just straight up jealousy that Stiles was spreading his legs for Derek and not -” And she gasps, cut off, and that's when Derek is on his feet and after them, right as Boyd is throwing Scott down the porch steps. 

Scott's back on his feet easily, fangs bared, challenging Boyd. “You think you can take me?” he demands.

Boyd answers by barreling into him, fangs and claws out. Derek swears, checks on Erica, and goes after them, barking at the other two to get Boyd while he handles Scott. Erica can't physically restrain Boyd, but she can get him to rein himself in again while Isaac slows him down. 

Derek throws Boyd off Scott, and yeah, Boyd can take Scott as it turns out, but Derek already suspected that. After their captures and subsequent returns, both far worse for wear, Boyd and Erica have been taking training a lot more seriously, with a lot less holding back. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Derek demands of both of them, turning first to Boyd. “Go for a run, burn it off, now.” Then to Scott he asks, “Is there a reason you thought hurting Erica was a good idea? In front of _her boyfriend_? Someone might start to think you like getting your ass kicked.”

“Surprised you didn't let him,” Scott spits, but takes the offered hand to get back to his feet. “Unless you want to do the honors?” 

There's something off. He's not acting smug, or pleased. More resolved. “I'm not five.” Because what does Scott expect him to do, throw a temper tantrum? Tear up a few hikers, go feral? Fucking teenagers and their drama. “What do you want?” 

Derek's thrown Scott off balance, and seriously, fucking teenagers. “I just, I thought you'd want to confront me. Figured we'd get it over with out here, away from people.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

Scott bites his lips, jams his hands in his pockets. “So what, you're not pissed at me? Stiles was just, what, nothing? Because this hasn't been easy for him, you know, he's been fucked up over this, but apparently you don't even _care_.”

Derek backs off, doesn't know what Scott wants from him here. “Stiles can make up his own mind.” And yeah, Derek gets it, okay? He doesn't need anyone coming here to remind him that Stiles was making the smart choice, that Stiles has potential he'll never realize if he stays here and takes the bite. If he stays here with Derek.

Mostly, he knows that if Stiles wanted him, really wanted him and this, what Derek had to offer, he wouldn't have doubted him, would have rushed headlong into it, hoped his dad would come around. But no, Stiles picked his dad, and that tells Derek that Stiles never saw him as safe, always saw Derek as impermanent, and shit, he should have seen it. He should never have believed Stiles loved him. He's seventeen, and he was bound to wise up, figure out Derek is too much for him to handle, not when he's this young with all these options. 

“Go home, Scott,” he says, and turns away. 

Scott doesn't though, and when Derek turns at the top of the steps, Scott is still there, frowning. “I'm not sorry,” he says, like it's important. “You're not good enough for him. You know it, I know it, okay, everyone knows it but him.” 

Derek doesn't know what to say to that, rubs his hand over his mouth while he thinks about it, about what Scott thinks of him and his pack and his life. Scott is just a beta, really, would be an omega if Derek was a more forceful Alpha. Hell, Laura would have put him on the ground the first time he gave her attitude. His opinion isn't really all that important to anyone but Derek, and Derek, well. He finds it kind of insulting. 

“He liked me,” he says. “He thought I was good enough.”

Scott shakes his head. “So what are you going to give him? A house? Your pack? Stiles is smart. He deserves to go to college, get a degree. Be something. Not your little housewife.”

And Derek. Well. He doesn't have an argument for that.

“Go home, Scott.” 

 

♦

_October (But anything I gotta get done, it can get done some other time)_

♦

 

“You were supposed to meet them, like...” Another breathless kiss, and nails in the nape of his neck, and Stiles smells like soap and himself, and he smells a little like Derek too now. “Like, an hour ago, Derek, god, you're the worst parent ever.” 

“Patience is important,” Derek argues, into Stiles' collarbone. “Very important to learning control.” 

Stiles snorts, and his fingers in Derek's hair feel great. He always drags his nails just hard enough over Derek's scalp. “You're so full of it.” He's not pushing Derek off though, just keeps his arms around him, and Derek fits so well between Stiles' legs, he really loves that. “What are you going to tell them?” 

“Six-month anniversary,” Derek says. He isn't surprised when Stiles breaks out into full laughter, can smile into his skin, and they're not even having sex, probably aren't going to, but yeah. Yeah. This is where he wants to be. 

“Wait, what are you counting from?” Stiles' asks, pushing Derek back a bit, and he's frowning, but it's more a confused kind of frown.

“March.” It was early or mid-March. He remembers that, because it was wet and freezing, winter still hanging on. He can't remember the date or day, but he doubts Stiles' can. Either way, it's early October. It's been at least six months.

“No,” Stiles argues. “I remember we didn't have sex until way after my birthday. So not until later.” 

“I'm not counting from that,” Derek counters, settling a little more comfortably. 

“What are you counting from then?” 

Derek noses at his scalp, inhales. He doesn't know what he smells like to Stiles, wonders about it sometimes. “The kelpie.” Stupid fucking water horse. Why was that a thing. _Why_. 

Stiles bites his lip, thinks, then asks, “Are you serious?” 

Derek nods.

And Stiles laughs, soft and pleased, and Derek lets him push at him, turn them over so Stiles is straddling him. “I take it all back, all of it. There is nothing scary about you. Nothing. You've lost all your Big Bad Wolf cred with me. All of it.” 

Derek smirks, and he's about to say something, but his phone vibrates on the nightstand. He's about to grab it, but Stiles does first, slides his thumb across the screen to answer. “Is it an emergency?” he asks. “No? Then entertain yourselves.” And now Derek laughs, hears Boyd's silent horror even through the phone, can even pick up Erica's tinny, _oh my god, I don't even want to know_ , in the background, but then Stiles' hangs up, puts the phone on the nightstand, kisses Derek. 

The phone vibrates again, but Derek doesn't feel anything to worry about. So he ignores it, kisses Stiles. 

They can wait.

 

♦

_March (heartbeat drumming double-time)_

♦

 

Stiles can't look at him half the time, and Derek keeps forgetting, keeps wanting to touch. He forgets that Stiles shrugged him off, right until his hand is already half-raised to press against the nape of his neck, the small of his back. 

He almost wants to tell him to stop coming, but even with things so painfully awkward and raw, Derek knows it's better to have him there. Derek is always too headstrong, too trigger-happy, and Stiles, for all his pent-up energy, is his perfect foil. Stiles can always remind Derek just what's at stake, and that he needs to stop and fucking _think_. 

Like now, now it's Stiles beside him, his hands braced over the table, and maybe they're standing a little too close, but Stiles didn't move away, and Derek's missed him. “Okay, the bestiary says the creepy demon horse, -” because that's what Stiles prefers to call the pooka, and Derek doesn't blame him. It's a creepy demon horse, and really, Derek's so tired of this shit with horses. “It's susceptible to iron, right? That's why it's staying away from here.” He means the warehouse they're squatting in, planning in. “Too much iron. It doesn't say what iron does to it, but I'm getting the mountain ash vibe from what's in there.” He's got a headache. Derek can tell from how he's rubbing the back of his neck, as he shifts his body, turning towards Derek. “St. John's Wort is just a myth, according to Deaton, and so is rowan.” He twists his neck. “Bells can keep them back, but I'm betting little werewolf ears don't like bells either. I'm just...” He huffs. “Fuck, demon horses.”

It's too habitual. Derek reaches out, covers the back of Stiles' neck with his hand, the pain leeching off him, into Derek. Stiles' shoulders slump, his head lolling back, against Derek's hand. “Thank baby Jesus, I've got the headache from hell. It's just like, it's right between by head and my neck, yeah, there.” Derek's thumb works into the spot, tries to ease the hurt. 

Stiles peeks at him, smiles. “Demon horses. I have _so_ had enough of demon horses. I never want to see another one again.” 

“I don't know.” Derek smirks. “You and the kelpie seemed to get along pretty good.” 

“Oh god,” Stiles groans, laughs dryly. “He wanted to _eat_ me. Why does everything want to eat me?” He turns, and Derek turns, and they're just a few breaths away from a kiss, just a second's worth of space from _right_ , and Derek is confused, because Stiles said no, chose someone else, but he still turns to Derek, still looks at Derek like yeah, he wants Derek to kiss him.

But then: “Stiles.” And Scott is back from the bathroom, and Stiles freezes, bites his lip, and Derek sees the exact second Stiles remembers that yeah, he didn't pick Derek. He withdraws, and it takes two seconds too long for Derek to drop his hand from the back of Stiles' neck, two seconds where Derek steals away just a bit more pain. 

Stiles is rubbing the back of his neck again within an hour. 

Derek puts his hands in his pockets. 

 

♦

 _September (you laid me down, whispered in my ear)_

♦

 

“No, okay, no -” And Stiles has stopped yelling at least, but this is the kind of fight that grows and crashes like waves on the sand. He's yelled enough his voice is hoarse, scratchy. Probably hurts to talk. “This shit isn't cute, or endearing, or whatever, this isn't fucking Twilight, your creeper tendencies aside.”

“I don't like it.” Derek's frustrated, and he's running out of words. He doesn't know how to say what he needs to say to Stiles, how to put all his instincts into words, because he knows that the ones getting in his way aren't human, and Stiles won't understand. He can't. “He likes you.”

“Yeah, Derek, we've been over this. He likes me, he talks to me, and you're a complete fucking psycho.” He covers his face with his hands, drags them up to rest on his head, his elbows out. Bites his lip, huffs. “Fucking...Derek, you know this isn't okay, right? You get that possessive behavior is on every check list everywhere for abusive relationships?” 

Derek bristles.

Stiles shakes his head. “No. You don't get to just act like this and then close up. I don't like it.”

“It's not...” He grits his teeth, carries on. “It's not human.” He hates saying it, hates reminding Stiles that he's not human, that Derek's got to be accommodated, has to have needs catered to that Stiles wouldn't have to deal with it if he was with a human. “I smell him near you, I can...” He stumbles over the words, because he's frustrated, almost angry. “I can smell him wanting you. And I just. I can't control it.” 

“That's bullshit,” Stiles says, and Derek glares, because what the fuck does he know? Stiles is human. “No, don't glare at me, alright? I'm not scared of you. You can control yourself just fine, and you know it, so don't try this shit with me. You don't even turn on the full moon unless you want to, you _never_ turn unless you want to. You've got yourself handled, alright, we all know it. So this you being a dick thing, that's all on you.” 

And Stiles never lets him get away with anything. 

Derek swallows. “I don't like it.” 

“He's my lab partner. He has to come over and study. I have to see him outside of class.” He's still angry, Derek can hear it in the way his heart thuds hard in his chest. “What exactly do you think is going to happen? I told him I wasn't interested, he backed off. That's the end of it.” 

Derek doesn't know how to say what he's thinking, because he doesn't even know what he's thinking, but then Stiles lowers his arms, and god, Derek hates the way he's looking at him. 

“Wow,” is what Stiles says. “Seriously? That's what you think?” His anger is fresh again, building and rolling hard. “You think I'm just going to screw around behind your back? What the _fuck_ , Derek?” 

And he looks up at him, meets his eyes, and just. Stops. Breathes. Just stops and gets himself sorted, because he needs to say it. He needs to, or Stiles won't understand just where it's coming from. “I'm not human.” 

“Yeah, the red eyes and the teeth kind of gave it away,” Stiles says, but the sarcasm is weary, without bite. He's tired. 

“I can't be like him,” Derek says, and just like that, the anger leaks out of Stiles, the force behind his anger gone. “Stiles, I'm never going to be able to...” He pauses again, wishes he knew how to put this, and the thing is, Derek has never hated what he is. Never. But there have been times when he wished he could just understand humans a little better, understand where his instincts changed, where his personality was somehow off to them. He can never keep a relationship, no matter how hard he tries, not with a human, because they just don't get him, and sometimes it only takes a few days in his company for them to decide they don't want to. 

And Stiles is young. He has options. He doesn't need Derek for anything. Derek has nothing to give him. Nothing at all. He's trying, he's trying so hard, but he can't help but see the time ticking by and think about the inevitable conversation they have where Stiles says no, says he can't deal with Derek and his issues and his differences, or rather, doesn't want to. 

“I'm not human,” he says again, because that's all there is to this.

“Yeah.” Stiles steps forward, into the space between Derek's legs, and Derek takes what's being offered, presses his face into Stiles' stomach, wraps his arms around him. His heartbeat is steady, not so hard anymore. His breath stutters, like he's anxious. “Derek.” His hand cups the back of Derek's skull. “I know you're not human. That doesn't bother me, you get that, right?” But Derek doesn't know that, not for sure. “Listen, okay, I get it. I get you see shit differently than humans. But you have got to get it through your thick skull.” He pushes on Derek's shoulders, pushes his body back on the couch so that he can crawl into Derek's lap, a leg on either side, his arms hooked around Derek's neck. “You've got me.”

Derek slides his hands up under Stiles' shirt, feels his warm skin, tries to make the words stick, sink down into him. 

“Just trust me,” Stiles says. “You've got me.” 

Derek nods, feels Stiles' skin under his hands. He loves Stiles' skin. 

“Okay.” He nods. “I'm sorry.” 

Stiles touches their foreheads together. “I mean it, Derek. Don't ever try this bullshit again. I love you, but you're not going to control me, got it?” When Derek nods, he gets a kiss. “Good dog. I'll have you society-trained by the time I'm twenty, at this rate.” 

And now Derek grins, asks, “Do I get a treat?”

“A little treat. Like, half a treat.” They kiss, they kiss, they kiss, and it feels like the kind that leads to something else, and Stiles mutters, “Okay, a whole treat.”

 

♦

_March (let me live that fantasy)_

♦

 

Derek runs into the Sheriff eventually. It was bound to happen. Beacon Hills isn't a big town, after all, and Derek doesn't doubt that the Sheriff is looking for him. He's not a bad man. He'll want to see Derek, make sure he understands. Derek expects a lecture, a _stay away from my son_ with a pitying look that will tell Derek that he knows Derek is pitiful.

Instead, he asks, “How old are you?” 

“Twenty-two,” Derek answers. “Just turned.” Too old for a seventeen-year-old, even one going on eighteen. 

The Sheriff nods, and sits in the seat beside Derek at the Starbucks bar. Derek likes Starbucks. It smells like coffee and tea and baked goods and cleaning supplies, and people tend to keep things to a dull roar out of respect for the students taking advantage of the free WiFi and the parents looking for a quiet space to read their books. Starbucks is nice, for a werewolf. 

Unfortunately, being a werewolf means that caffeine does nothing for him. Still, he likes the chai tea, and it's as cheap as Starbucks gets, not that it matters to him. 

“Stiles misses you,” the Sheriff says. “Says he's fine, but I know my kid.” 

“We'd been together for a year,” Derek replies, shrugging. “It's an adjustment period.” 

The Sheriff nods. “Or maybe he loves you.”

That isn't what Derek expected from the father of a seventeen-year-old, so he thinks he can be forgiven for the face he makes. He turns to he Sheriff, confused, and he's well aware of how stupid that makes him look. Every expression but serious looks stupid on him, according to Laura. “What?” he asks, confused. 

“Stiles watched his mom die. He ever tell you that?” Derek nods, because Stiles had. He'd told Derek about being in the car that day, feeling the metal contract around him, hearing his mother screaming until she'd stopped. The firefighters cutting them out, the way the paramedics had shouted around Stiles' mom, their faces. Stiles told Derek he'd sort of known from the second he saw their faces, the way they'd avoided looking at him. 

He'd just sort of known, the same way Derek had known when the doctors finally came back to talk to him and Laura after they'd done all they could to save who they'd managed to pull out of the fire alive. Only Peter, they'd said, and it didn't look good.

His one-year-old cousin, the one Peter had held up to the bars of the window until he'd apparently collapsed, had died on the table. His brain had been swollen, or something. Derek hadn't understood.

He'd just understood their faces. 

_I'm so sorry I couldn't save them_ , is what that face says. Derek learned it young.

Stiles learned it younger. 

“I wasn't in a good place, after she died. I'm sure he told you that too. Stiles grew up a lot quicker than a lot of the kids in that school, and if it was any other kid, I'd be on you so fast with charges your head would spin. He's my kid though, and a lot of people think I should have you six feet under by now.” Derek doesn't disagree. Most people would say that. “Stiles isn't like most of them though. I dopn't think you're like most your age either.” 

Derek doesn't respond. He doesn't have one to give.

“It wasn't your age I had an issue with. Wasn't you being a guy.” The barista slides a cup towards the Sheriff. Smells like a mocha, to Derek. With an extra shot of espresso. He's gotten good at recognizing all of them. “I got scared after Scott and them told me about you and the Argents. I don't want Stiles mixed up in that.”

“I didn't want him in it either,” Derek insists. “He deliberately put himself in it. Every time I told him to go the hell home, he wouldn't. What was I supposed to do, drag him to you and tell you everything? You would have thought I was crazy. And he would have helped that along, you know him. He would have told you I was nuts so that he could keep sneaking off into the woods and throwing himself in front of sirens like an idiot.”

The Sheriff stares. “He did _what_?”

“It's a really long story, and it was Scott's fault,” Derek says, rubbing his temple. It had been Scott's fault, attacking the leader of the sirens before Derek could pay her the proper tribute. Well, maybe if Derek had explained what was going on, Scott wouldn't have gotten involved. But he'd been pissing Derek off that week, and he hadn't felt like dealing with Scott's shit and then...okay, it was probably both their faults. “It's just a long story.” 

“I bet,” the Sheriff says, nodding skeptically. “He looks alright to me.”

“Because...” Derek doesn't know how to explain, but he tries. “He talks. He talks until you listen just so he'll shut up. He distracts people. He makes them think just by talking. I've never seen anyone do what he does.”

The Sheriff actually chuckles. “Of course. Stiles talks the supernatural into submission.” 

“You have no idea,” Derek says. 

“Scott told me you were bad news,” the Sheriff says, after a minute. “That true?”

Of course Scott said that. 

“I don't know,” Derek answers, going for broke. “I'm trying not to be.” 

♦

_April (radio silence)_

♦

The first time.

It's what Stiles counts from.

Derek doesn't.

It was never about the sex anyway.

♦

_March (I've been trying to do it right)_

♦

The Sheriff looks at the pictures, then back up at Derek. “Pookas?” he asks, a little aghast.

“We've it under control.” They mostly do. “Just stay out of it.” Derek doesn't need anymore dead cops on his conscience, no matter what the Sheriff says about being more involved in the shit that goes on in his town. There's too much there already. 

“Any chance I can keep Stiles home?” The Sheriff doesn't sound hopeful.

“You could sedate him.” Derek offers, shrugging. “It's his plan, anyway.”

And the Sheriff looks at Derek for a longer moment than the comment deserves, _looks_ at him, and finally says, “You really love him.”

And they've never talked about that. It's been acknowledged between them these past few days that yeah, Stiles loves Derek, really does, but the Sheriff has left Derek alone with his feelings and all the shit they bring. Derek guesses he already knew. How could Derek not love Stiles? “Yeah,” he answers, pinches the bridge of his nose. “I do. It wasn't enough though.”

“If you think I'm giving you a pep talk about my son...”

“I'm not.” 

The Sheriff smirks. “I agree with Scott, you know. This isn't safe for Stiles. None of this is. Hell, it's not safe for Scott.” That's the first time Derek's heard someone actually be concerned about Scott too, and he almost smiles. “Here's the thing though. He loves you.” He doesn't sound happy about it, but he's the kind of man who won't lie for his own comfort. “He loves you so much it scares the hell out of me.” 

Derek doesn't know what to do with that.

“I told Stiles I didn't want him with you. That I wanted him to think on this. That I wanted to figure out who you were.” He looks at Derek, and Derek looks down at the map. “I trust Scott. I've known that kid for a lot longer than you.”

“And Scott doesn't trust me,” Derek says, nodding along. He's heard this before.

“Nope,” the Sheriff says. “But Stiles does. And I've known that kid his whole life.”

Derek frowns.

“So,” the Sheriff says, clapping his hands. “A pooka.” 

♦

_(The First) March (When the rain came down)_

♦

The kelpie has Stiles, pulled tight to his human form, and he laughs, shows his teeth. “What's wrong, boy?” he asks Derek, and there's something gone in his eyes.

Stiles' lips are blue. 

“Let him go,” Derek pleads, and the kelpie laughs. He's young, with blonde hair dripping wet around his face, naked, hip deep in the water, with _Stiles_ , Stiles pulled back against his chest. 

“He'll drown,” the kelpie coos. “Poor little baby human. They're just so, so _delicate_ , you know? So fragile. They die at the drop of a hat. Aren't they strange?” He jostles Stiles, and Stiles groans, blinks. The kelpie grabs him by the chin, turns his face up. “Aren't you strange? We're so much stronger, my kind. His kind.” He hitches his chin at Derek. “But somehow we're the minority. The magic gives us all this power, but it makes us so _weak_ , but you, you hardheaded monkeys, you just have these great big brains and you don't follow the rules.” 

Derek is frozen on the shore, knows he won't reach him in time if the kelpie decides to take on his true form. He'll take Stiles deep into the lake, drown him, devour him, and Derek is helpless. 

“They don't. _Follow_. The RULES!” The kelpie repeats, shakes Stiles violently. “We have to follow the rules, why don't they? It's not fair! It's not fair!” 

“Please.” Derek doesn't know what else to do. “Please, not him.” 

Five bodies, and Derek observed them all with little thought. But he can't look at Stiles' body. He can't do that. 

The kelpie tilts his head first one way, then the other. “He loves you,” he says, to Stiles. “It always seems to happen to our kind. We love you. You're not like us at all, and we love you. That doesn't seem right, does it? Because you're so delicate, you die. You all die. You just up and die and leave us all behind. But we keep loving you. Why?” 

Stiles is waking up, Derek can see that. He's trying to, at the very least, but Derek can't hear his heart, can't hear his breathing over the sounds of the water, the kelpie's movements. 

“Because,” Stiles manages, and his voice is low. “Because we love you back. We choose to. It's not magic, with us. We make the choice to love you.” Stiles' eyes close for too long, open. “You just want someone to choose you.” 

The kelpie croons something Derek can't hear or understand, and strokes Stiles' cheek. “But you didn't choose me.” Derek hears that. “He can't even save you, and he knows it. He knows I can kill you. I'm going to, you know. I'm going to eat your heart, so it's all mine. You'll always be mine.” 

“Don't think I'm ready for that kind of commitment,” Stiles quips. 

And then something happens, something Derek doesn't understand. The kelpie starts to choke, his body starting to spasm. He chokes, and chokes, and Stiles is free, backing away as far as he can, and Derek is splashing out to help him, as he watches the kelpie die. 

“What?” he asks, confused. He'd seen nothing, done nothing.

“Salt,” Stiles says. “It was saltwater. Kelpies can't stand it.” 

Derek frowns, not understanding. The lake is freshwater. 

Stiles smiles, weak. “It's all about belief.” And then he slumps against Derek. So Derek picks him up, cradles him, and walks back to shore. 

It takes an hour for Scott and the others to reach them, and by then the kelpie's body is lying on the lake shore, twisted and deformed in death. Not a horse, not a man. Something. Stiles is wrapped up in Derek, as Derek tries to get him warm. 

“I couldn't save you,” he says, at one point.

“'S'okay,” Stiles mumbles, exhausted. “I'm pretty good at saving myself.” He curls tighter into Derek, and Derek responds, tries to envelope him. “I don't need you to save me Derek. Loving you is just...” He buries his face in Derek's chest, and Derek can't breathe for a second. “It's just about you. It's not because you're the Alpha, or because you're such a badass, or even just you being kind of beyond hot, because yeah, you are, you know it.” Derek smirks over Stiles' head. “I just love you.” He pauses. “Alright?”

Derek isn't sure what to say, so that's when he hooks a finger under Stiles' chin and kisses him for the first time. He's still cold, but he's shivering, and getting steadily warmer, so Derek isn't too worried anymore. 

He thinks he might be a little overwhelmed by it all, and that's why he doesn't hear them coming out of the woods, but he does hear Erica's whistle. 

“The cavalry,” Stiles jokes, pressing their foreheads together. Derek wants to kiss him again. Thinks Stiles wants to kiss him again too. 

They get the body taken care of, salting it again just for good measure before burning it. 

They go home.

He kisses Stiles again.

♦

_(The Second) March (I have nothing more to give)_

♦

He really is fucking tired of demon horses. 

The pooka makes the kelpie look like a walk in the woods, and horses don't have fangs, that's not fair, Derek thinks, right as they sink into his side, start tearing at the flesh, ripping it away. He howls in pain, slashes at its face, blinds it, but the damn thing won't let go, bites down even harder. 

Boyd dives onto its back, followed closely by Isaac, and while Boyd holds it down, Isaac rips out its belly, and finally there's Erica, pouring the herbal mixture Deaton made them into its organs while shouting, “Die bitch!” Because Erica is so tired of demon horses too. 

It screams in agony, releases Derek, screams and screams and screams and screams, until finally. Finally it dies. And they burn the body, just to make sure, and Isaac helps Derek heal, stuffs the organs the pooka tore out back into his body so they don't have to regrow from scratch. He came damn close tonight, he knows.

And Stiles is waiting against the Camaro, with big eyes, and fear, and he cups Derek's face, kisses him, and Derek kisses back, because _Stiles_ , Stiles. Stiles. 

“Don't,” Stiles breathes between desperate kisses. “Don't die. God, don't die.”

And then there's Scott, and he says, “Stiles.”

And Stiles.

And Derek.

“You promised,” Scott accuses, pointing a finger. “You promised me.”

“What do you want me to do?” Stiles shouts back. “This is bullshit, Scott!”

“He keeps dragging you into this shit, you were talking about the _bite_ -”

They argue, back and forth like friends can, but the way the kiss made Derek feel fades away as he watches Stiles' face, sees how conflicted and torn he is. Derek has been hoping that Stiles will change his mind, choose Derek, but now that he sees how affected Stiles is how, how torn up, he doesn't want that. 

He doesn't want choosing him to have to be a choice. He wants Stiles to keep his best friend and his life, be a normal person. Derek wants to be the kind of person that normal people can be with.

But he's not a person. He's not a human.

What the hell was he thinking? 

Derek gets his betas and they go home. 

♦

_Now_

♦

“He's my best friend.”

Derek scowls, puts down the nail gun. “I didn't say anything.” He wasn't planning on saying anything. He was planning on walking the fuck away and not dealing with this shit anymore.

“He was going to die!” Stiles almost shouts. “What did you want me to do? Watch him get hunted down by people like Gerard? He was an omega, he was going to die, Derek, what did you want me to _do_?” Stiles is on the verge of tears, and Derek can't handle that. he never could, and especially not now, when the two sides of him are at war. He wants to be normal, and he wants Stiles, and he wants to be responsible and he can't reconcile any of those things. Not with Stiles right here, trying to explain, like it matters, like he's changed his mind.

“He could have come to me whenever he felt like.” Because he could have. Derek wouldn't have turned him away.

“But he wasn't going to. He wasn't, and they were going to get him, Derek, fuck, it was the only way he would agree to work with you, to accept help.” 

“If you left me?” Derek demands, and the skeleton of the house around them, the promise of their future, casts ghostly shadows around them. “Jesus Christ,” he swears. “I loved you.”

And Stiles stills, swallows, says, “I couldn't let him die. And my dad...he didn't trust you, and he's my dad, Derek. I couldn't do that to him. I'm all he's got.” He looks at Derek. He just looks at him. "You don't love me anymore?"

"You walked out on me." Derek isn't in the mood for a guilt trip. He isn't in the mood for anything. "You didn't choose me, all right, and I get it, I get why I'm not a choice. We were never going to fucking work. Scott was never going to be okay with it, and we all know he can't get through the week without you, right? Well I'm not him. I don't need you."

"I like that." The wind is out of Stiles' sails, and it shows. "Everyone needs me but you. You just wanted me. I liked that." When Derek doesn't say anything, because fuck, what is he supposed to say, Stiles keeps on. “Scott doesn't trust you.” Stiles is keeping his distance, and they're in what will be the master bedroom, the west-facing room with its own bathroom. “He can't forgive you. For Peter.” Derek looks up at him, waits to hear Stiles say he understands Scott's point of view like he always does, but then Stiles says, “She was your sister. And I get it. Scott doesn't know what it's like to lose someone, to feel helpless. Trust me, if I could kill the guy who hit the car...” 

And Derek stands. 

Put his hands on Stiles' hips.

Waits for a rejection that never comes.

So he says what he's wanted to say from the beginning, what he wouldn't let himself say before, what he tried to convince himself was wrong. “Stay with me. Pick me.” He's never dared, but now, in the dark, with the stars overhead, he gives Stiles another option. Because Stiles doesn't get it, doesn't see what Derek thought he did all along. Derek doesn't need him, not like Scott. Derek _wants_ him.

“Derek.”

“Your dad gets it, okay, and if you go to college, that's fine, I don't care. If you never want the bite, fine. Whatever. I'll keep Scott's dumb ass alive no matter what, Stiles, just pick me, please, I can't.” He can't. He _can't_. Not anymore. He can't pretend that he's content with this, just this, because he's not.

No more of this limbo. He needs Stiles to look at him and pick him, even with his dad's uneasiness and Scott's teenage angst. He needs this to be real. He needs to get what he wants for once. If it's not...

Derek drops his hands. 

Stiles doesn't let them fall.

♦

_(The Second) April (just keep it stuck inside your head, like your favorite tune)_

Derek puts up the drywall.

Stiles says, “I kind of like eggplant.”

“For dinner?” 

“No, dumbass.”


End file.
